Yesterday, violence came too close to home.

Yesterday, I posted my story of gun violence, and a few hours later, I deleted it. I didn’t want to talk about myself then, but rather the people today. Now, I would like to speak as a private citizen who also happens to be a faculty member. As I read the story in the Albuquerque Journal this morning, I was not pleased with the university’s response. This is the second murder of a student on campus in the five years I’ve been here, and nothing seems to have changed. It has been 23 years since my twin brother was murdered, and nothing has changed. It is time for each of us to be the change we want to see.

Honestly, every time I think I’ve put the past behind me, something brings it back. Not every one of the 16,576 deaths by gun did, but the ones that are too close to home. The recent loss of a student to gun violence in UNM housing has stirred a deep ache in me. My heart is heavy with sadness for the student’s family, friends, and classmates. I remember the pain I felt when I lost my twin brother to gun violence, and I can only imagine the grief they are living through now. If their journey is anything like mine, this pain will linger in ways that are hard to explain and even harder to forget.

Years ago, I received a phone call at 3:00 a.m., the kind that changes everything. My twin brother was dead, shot multiple times in my parents’ living room right in front of my mother. The days that followed were filled with grief, confusion, and questions that have never fully been answered. What I remember most is the silence that followed: from systems that failed, from people who didn’t know what to say, and from a society that had no real answer for what had happened.

I don’t share this story to pass judgment or to point fingers. I share it because I know what it is to live with the aftermath of violence, and I know how deeply it can fracture families and communities. In my case, the presence of guns in the home was a fact of life. But the real danger wasn’t the tool; it was the untreated trauma, the lack of mental health care, the denial, and the silence. My family didn’t talk about the violence; they made excuses for it. And eventually, it took a life.

What happened at UNM is not just a tragic incident; it’s a call to action. If we genuinely care about safety, we have to address the root causes of violence. This includes investing in mental health support, creating environments where young people can speak openly about their experiences, and fostering a culture where seeking help is met with compassion, not shame. If we are not going to limit access to guns, then we must provide education to every young person on gun safety and why you never pick up one in anger.

To the students, staff, and faculty affected by this loss, I see you. I know the kind of pain that can take hold after something like this. If your experience is anything like mine, it will come in waves, sometimes soft, sometimes unbearable. Please know you are not alone. As a human being, a Soto Zen priest, and a faculty member, my door will always be open to you. Whether you need to talk, sit in silence, or simply be with someone who understands that healing is not a linear process, I am here.

Let us work together to create a world where safety is not something we hope for, but rather something we build together. Not by condemnation, but through compassion, courage, and care for one another.